SMACK.
"NGH—!"
I shot up, sheets tangled around my legs, a strangled gasp tearing from my throat. One second I was drowning—in what, I didn't fucking know—and the next I was on the cold-ass floor of my bedroom, heart slamming against my ribs like it wanted out. Sweat plastered my hair to my forehead, and I was breathing like I'd just run from an Akuma.
"Ugh…kid? You mind? I was in the middle of a fantastic dream about Camembert volcanoes," Plagg's groggy, annoyed voice floated down from my pillow.
I opened my mouth—to snap, to curse, to say something—but nothing came out. My throat was tight. Everything felt…off. Not wrong, but different. Like I'd been shoved back into my own skin after someone else wore it for a decade.
Pushing up on shaky arms, I raked a hand through my damp hair and really looked at my room. Morning light bled through the windows, turning everything gold and soft and fake. So fucking pristine. So perfect.
Then I caught my reflection in the floor-length mirror.
Myself.
Green eyes, artfully messy blond hair, cheekbones that looked carved by some artist with too much time. Adrien Agreste. Paris's golden boy. The doll on the magazine covers. The kid who never had a fucking hair out of place.
A choked, ugly laugh burst out of me—half relief, half hysterics—and hot tears spilled over before I could stop them. I slapped a hand over my mouth, shoulders shaking, but it wasn't sadness. It was this…this dizzy, overwhelming release.
The nightmare was gone. I couldn't remember what it was—just the weight of it, the kind of terror that lingers in your bones like a bad smell.
Plagg drifted into view, his usual smirk replaced by something almost like…concern? "You okay, kid?"
I dragged the back of my hand across my eyes, a grin splitting my face so wide it hurt. "Yeah," I breathed, voice rough. "Yeah, I think I am."
For the first time in what felt like forever, I actually meant it.
After scrubbing the tears and sleep-sweat off my face, I stood under the shower's spray, letting the water pound some sense back into me. Two weeks. Two weeks since everything changed. Since I went from boring, predictable Adrien to…this. A superhero. Chat Noir. Partner to Ladybug. Holder of the Cat Miraculous.
No new villains since then. Just…normal life. Photoshoots. Smiling for cameras. School. Like none of it ever happened.
But it did.
And so did she.
My hand drifted down as I stepped out of the shower, towel slung low on my hips. Just the thought of her—of Ladybug—made my cock twitch, already thickening against my thigh. I couldn't help it. Ever since that first fight, since I saw her in that skin-tight red and black spotted suit, she'd been in my head. In my dreams. In my fantasies.
And God, what a body she had.
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----------->
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Ladybug was already a goddess among women. Her suit, that miraculous material that somehow contained her, showed off every curve of her ass, the swell of her tits, the slim cut of her waist—it was fucking art. Her tits—fuck, her tits—were perfect, high and round and full, the kind that would overflow my hands, and the suit didn't leave a damn thing to the imagination as they jiggled with every graceful leap across Parisian rooftops. Her thunderous thicc thighs would squeeze the life out of me, and the idea of her long, slim legs wrapped around my waist was enough to make me ache.
And her ass—That perfect, juicy bubble butt.
Just the memory of the way it bounced when she jumped, the way it filled her suit like it was custom-made to drive me insane, as her suit dug deep into the crevice between those planet-sized asscheeks, giving her a cameltoe in the back that made men weep and women question their sexuality. When she was fighting, it was impossible not to imagine what it would be like to squeeze her ass in my hands, feel her muscles clench, spread those cheeks wide and eat her from behind until she was a shaking, screaming mess.
And in battle, with her hair flying wild and that fierce, determined look in her eyes? It was the biggest turn-on I had ever fucking seen.
My cock, already half-hard, throbbed violently at the memory as I sat down on the edge of my bed, water droplets dripping from my hair. The towel, barely covering anything, slipped further down my hips as I palmed the bulge between my legs, biting my lip.
I couldn't help it. Ever since the first day I'd seen her, the heroine of Paris had haunted my dreams and my fantasies. I didn't know if she had the same reaction when she thought of me, but I hoped so.
And right now, with images of Ladybug flashing through my mind, there was no stopping it.
Tossing the towel aside, I took my aching cock in my fist and gave a few slow, hard pumps. The pressure sent sparks of pleasure shooting up my spine, and a shudder rolled through me as I thought of her—of her ass, her lips, her tits, her everything. My cock twitched, and I ran my thumb over the slit, smearing pre-cum around the sensitive head.
"Oh, Adrien~❤" >
Her voice. Her voice. Dripping with sultry, teasing sweetness, purring directly into my brain as she appeared before me—not really there, but the image was vivid. So vivid I could almost feel her.
Hands on her hips, that spotted suit hugging every perfect curve, her massive tits nearly spilling out of the straining fabric, her nipples poking through the magical material as she smiled down at me. A predatory smile, one that said she was about to make a meal out of me.
Do you like what you see, Kitty~? she cooed, one hand sliding up her own body, tracing the swell of her breast before slipping under the suit material, cupping herself. Do you like my tits~? Do you want to suck on them while I ride you~?❤
I groaned, my fist pumping faster, water sluicing over my grip and dripping from my bulbous tip as the fantasy Ladybug crawled into my lap, her huge tits brushing my chest, the scent of her driving me crazy. She was everywhere. Her hands. Her lips. Her mouth. She was so real, and the realness of it was intoxicating.
And what about my ass, Adrien~? She turned, bending over slowly, spreading her legs just enough to give me a glimpse of heaven, and presented her perfect, peach-shaped globes of pure, sinful flesh like an offering. Her suit clung to every curve, every dimple and ripple, and I could see the way her asshole clenched with every movement.
What about my fat ass~?❤
She looked back over her shoulder, eyes gleaming as suddenly she began to bounce and gyrate, her cheeks clapping and clenching with every move, that glorious ass jiggling like a plate of jello as she shook it for me.
My cock was harder than steel, pre-cum oozing down the shaft and pooling around the base as I moved faster, rougher, the friction and the fantasy sending electric shocks racing through my veins. I imagined sinking my fingers into that perfect, round flesh, disappearing past my wrists into her blubbery posterior, spreading her wide, hearing her gasp as I pushed inside—
To think~❤ her voice giggled, a finger—her finger—ghosting along the veiny underside of my shaft in my mind. The great Chat Noir, hero of Paris… brought to his knees by an ass~? What a degenerate you are, Adrien~💕 What would the people say if they knew their precious kitty was just a little pervert, thinking of his partner's butt~?
She tsked, shaking her head, but her eyes were slutty, hungry. Guess your Lady will just have to take care of her poor kitty, won't she~? I'll let you play with me whenever you want, Adrien. I'll even do all the work. All you have to do is sit back, relax, and let me bounce my big, juicy butt on your thick, fat, kitty-cock until I'm all full of cum~❤ Wouldn't you like that, Adrien~❤
FUCK.
My hips bucked into my grip, steam curling around me as I worked myself faster, rougher. The vision of her—my Ladybug—hovering above me, lowering herself onto me, taking every single inch while I watched my cock disappear inside her—
"Adrien, are you done?"
Nathalie's voice—cold, professional, and absolutely mortifying in its realness—sliced through my fantasy like a Cataclysm through steel.
"GYAAAH—!"
I YELPED, scrambling to cover myself, but it was far too late. My dick—still rock-hard, still dripping, still very obviously mid-orgasmic fantasy—was on full display. My face burned as my eyes darted toward the door, expecting the knob to twist and the worst person possible to step in.
We stared.
Nathalie's usual ice-queen composure was broken by the slightest widening of her eyes, her gaze darting to my cock and away so quickly I wasn't sure if it was real. But her cheeks were pink, and her hand was on the doorknob, and for the first time, the woman was at a loss for words.
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"NATHALIE!" I choked out, my voice cracking like a thirteen-year-old's. "DON'T YOU EVER KNOCK?!"
She jerked her gaze away so fast her glasses nearly flew off her face. But not before I saw it—the shock, the embarrassment, the utter wreckage of her professional demeanour.
And something else.
Something flickering behind those glasses, deep in her pupils, that made my still-half-hard cock give an involuntary twitch. Something dark, hungry, and utterly forbidden.
Something that had never been there before.
"M-My… apologies, Adrien," she stammered. Stammered. Nathalie Sancoeur, the woman who could make an army of soldiers cry and CEOs shit their pants, stammered. "Your-- I didn't realise you were… occupied."
She cleared her throat—a sharp, nervous, utterly human sound that seemed to surprise even her. Her fingers, usually so steady when adjusting my collar or presenting my schedule, fumbled at the door handle.
"Your schedule. I'll… leave it on the table."
She practically fled, her pencil skirt—the grey fabric straining valiantly against the generous, jiggling swell of her ass—hugging her curves as she retreated. Even in my state of pure, unadulterated mortification, I couldn't help but notice the way those two round globes of sinful perfection wobbled with every panicked step.
"I'll… return in fifteen minutes."
CLICK.
The door shut. I slumped against the tile, my head thunking back. My boner was finally, mercifully, dying a swift death of pure, unadulterated shame.
Just fucking perfect.
-x-X-x-
After my, um… interruption, I finished my… business and slunk downstairs where Nathalie was waiting by the door, a schedule clutched to her chest. The unflappable, ice-queen composure I'd known my whole life was… fractured. A high, brilliant flush painted her sharp cheekbones, a stain of pure, unprofessional heat she couldn't control. She refused to meet my eyes directly, her icy blue gaze fixed somewhere past my shoulder, magnified and made even more intense by her black-and-red-rimmed glasses.
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She cleared her throat, a sharp, awkward sound in the grand foyer. "I trust you are… prepared to depart."
I rubbed the back of my neck, an embarrassed blush crawling across my cheeks. God, this was beyond mortifying. It was like walking around naked. I mean, technically, I had been. But the fact that Nathalie—perfect, proper, professional, I-Never-Show-Emotion-In-Public Nathalie—had seen me in the middle of jerking it? It was humiliating.
And hot.
NO. Nope. Not going there. She's like a mother to me, not…
Those heels made her legs look long, like they went on for miles, the hem of her skirt riding high on her toned thighs thick enough to squeeze the life out of a man, perfectly outlined by the brutal constriction of her grey pencil skirt. It was a professional outfit, but the way the fabric stretched and pulled over her curves was anything but.
And her ass.
Holy fuck, her ass.
Every step she took made her cheeks jiggle. Not in a gross, flabby way, but a full, tight, fuck-me-now kind of way. Every step she took, those two round globes of sinful perfection strained against the unforgiving grey fabric, begging to be set free, begging for a handprint. Or a tongue.
Or a cock.
I swallowed. I was suddenly aware of how tight my pants were. Her upper half was no less a crime, with the severe black blazer and the red turtleneck she wore underneath, which hugged her in all the right places as they mapped every curve, leaving nothing to the imagination. I was currently using it to filthy extremes. Her full, round breasts—had they always been that big?—jutted out proudly, and with every step they bounced gently, the fabric stretching to its limit. Her long, black hair was pulled up into its usual bun, and I was having fantasies of taking her hair down and wrapping it around my hand like a leash.
"Adrien. Is something the matter?"
I snapped back to the present, realising I was just standing there staring at her like a goddamn idiot.
"N-Nothing! Just… talking to myself," I stammered, my face burning hotter than the shower's spray. Nathalie's eyebrow, framed by those severe red-and-black glasses, arched like a drawn blade, but she didn't push it. We split up in the foyer—her heels clicking toward the office, me heading for the waiting town car, my steps shaky.
I couldn't stop replaying it the whole ride to school. Of all the people to walk in on me… Fuck. I slumped into the leather seat, wishing it would just swallow me up and turn me into something less embarrassing.
'Look on the bright side, kid,' Plagg snickered from inside my jacket pocket, his voice a smug, greasy whisper. 'At least she didn't catch you mid—'
'I swear to god, Plagg, I will replace every last wheel of Camembert with low-fat, individually-wrapped cheese slices. The kind that doesn't even smell like food.'
The threat made him go quiet. The rest of the ride was a blur of gray Paris streets and my own simmering shame, until the Gorilla, my huge and silent driver, pulled up to the stone front of Collège Françoise Dupont. He gave me a single, gruff nod as I got out, and I trudged up the steps like I was heading to my own execution.
This was the kind of school parents bragged about at cocktail parties. Top academics. Strict discipline. Students picked from Paris's so-called "best." And here I was, Adrien Agreste, the golden boy, the doll on magazine covers… with my head still full of shower steam and Nathalie's shocked, flushed look on my bare, dripping—
"Yo, bro!"
A hand clamped onto my shoulder—not a gentle tap, but a grip—and spun me around before I could even hit the courtyard proper.
I found myself face-to-face with a smirk full of mischief. Amber eyes, sharp and glittering, locked onto mine. Shoulder-length black hair fell in loose waves around a face the color of rich coffee. Nina Lahiffe.
My best friend. And currently, my personal kryptonite.
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"How's it hangin', dude?" she grinned, flashing a hint of fang as she slung her arm over my shoulder and leaned her full weight into me.
My entire world narrowed to the sensation of her body pressed against mine. Her tank top was a thin, stretchy scrap of fabric that did nothing to hide the heavy, generous swell of her tits as they mashed against my arm. I could feel the tight peaks of her nipples, hard even through the material, branding my skin through my shirt. Her shorts were short enough to make a nun weep, riding high on thick, powerful thighs that I'd seen pin soccer balls mid-air and now desperately wished were pinning something else.
A strangled, half-choked noise died in my throat. My face, already warm, ignited into a full-blown inferno. Worse—so much worse—I felt my cock, the traitorous bastard, give a violent TWITCH in my pants, thickening against my thigh, straining against the confines of my tailored slacks in a blatant, obscene tent.
"H-Hi, Nina," I managed, my voice too high. I tried to move and make some space, but she just held on tighter, her warmth soaking into me. "It's… good to see you."
Nina was my polar opposite. Loud where I was quiet. Laid-back, where I was structured. She crashed through life like a joyful hurricane, and her presence usually felt like sunshine. Right now, it felt like being stuck in a furnace fully clothed.
Her amber eyes sparkled, scanning my flushed face with predatory delight. She gave me a playful, jostling shake, making her chest rub against me in a way that shot lightning straight to my groin.
"You look like you just saw a ghost, Agreste," she purred, her smirk widening. "What's the deal? Long night?" She leaned in, her breath warm against my ear, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial, wicked whisper. "Or… did the Ice Queen finally catch you jerking your shit again?"
"Careful, Lahiffe," I shot back, forcing a Chat Noir smirk onto my face as I nudged her ribs. The movement was playful, but my voice came out tighter than I intended. "Keep teasing like that and people might think you actually like me."
Nina's amber eyes flashed—a quick, unreadable spark—before she threw her head back in that raspy, full-bodied laugh that always turned heads. "Pfft—in your dreams, Agreste." Her tone was pure, dripping sarcasm, a weapon she wielded as well as her words. But her fingers, still curled over my shoulder, didn't move. They lingered, a hot, possessive brand through the fabric of my shirt for a second—two seconds—too long. A silent contradiction to her dismissal.
The first bell's shrill scream cut through the tension, a merciless drill sergeant herding us into the river of blazers and backpacks. Nina fell into step beside me, her weekend exploding into a story of some illegal underground DJ set—complete with wild, sweeping hand gestures that nearly decapitated a passing freshman. I nodded, the familiar rhythm of her voice a worn-in track in my head. Two years ago, this was my soundtrack. She'd been my chaos, my anchor to anything real. The one who'd jammed a stolen croissant into my locker after a 36-hour photoshoot, who'd dragged me into a mosh pit so I could feel something besides exhaustion (result: one sprained wrist, two stolen shoes, and the first genuine smile in months). She looked at me and saw Adrien. Just a dumb, overly-polite kid who got too invested in shonen manga and still, to her eternal amusement, couldn't tell a Phillips from a flathead.
Then… everything. The suffocating silence of the mansion after Mom. The chilling precision of Father's grief felt less like sadness and more like a new business strategy. I built walls. High ones. Threw myself into the motions: the robotic smiles for cameras, the endless Mandarin lessons, the piano pieces played with technical perfection and zero soul. I became a ghost in my own life.
I pushed. Everyone. Away.
But Nina… Nina never got the memo to fucking leave.
Even when my texts went unanswered for weeks. Even when I'd cancel plans with a cold, one-word excuse. Even that one brutal afternoon I'd snapped, "Just leave me alone, Lahiffe! Don't you get it?!" She'd just shown up the next day at my locker, a crooked grin on her face, a fresh scratch on her cheek from god-knows-what, and said, "Hey, dumbass. You look like shit."
'I've been a terrible friend,' the guilt gnawed, a rat in the walls of my conscience, as she imitated Alya's latest frantic blogger meltdown. I had to fix this. I had to—
"Hey, Nina—"
WHAM.
The world EXPLODED in a burst of pink and black.
All the air was violently PUNCHED from my lungs. My back hit the hard linoleum with a sickening CRACK, my tailbone screaming in protest. A heavy, warm, decidedly feminine weight sprawled across my lap, pinning me.
'Ugh… my head…' White static filled my vision. The world swam, blurred at the edges. 'What the hell hit me? A bus? A fucking Akuma?' My eyes widened in pure shock and embarrassment as I saw who'd slammed into me.
Ass.
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That was the first coherent thought. The only thought.
Not 'who,' not 'why,' not 'ouch.' Ass.
Two perfect, round globes of pure, sinful flesh were smashed against my face. The soft, giving warmth of them moulded against my nose, my mouth, my cheeks. A sweet, musky, intoxicating scent—like arousal and vanilla body spray—flooded my nostrils, drowning all higher thought. My heart was a frantic jackhammer against my ribs, a primal drumbeat echoing in my ears as the softest, most suffocating pillows in the universe claimed me.
Made even worse by the fact that somehow she managed to fall in such a way that caused her pants to slide down a little, get a fulll giving me a view of the thin strip of pink and black lace of her thong, digging into the lush divide of her asscheeks. A strip so flimsy it was basically a suggestion.
And then—OH FUCK—she shifted.
Her face, disoriented, pressed down. Right into the raging, painful TENT in my slacks. My cock, already rock-hard and aching from Nina's earlier assault, THROBBED violently against the pressure, a pulse of pure, desperate need.
A hot, muffled gasp vibrated through the denim and into my shaft. Her breath. Her mouth.
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I was dead. This was it. This was how I died. Smothered by the perfect, round, sinful ass of some anonymous girl, right in the middle of the school hallway, with a boner currently hard enough to qualify as a fucking structural support beam. My hands, splayed on the cold linoleum, trembled. I couldn't move. Couldn't speak. Could only drown in blissful, peach-scented suffocation.
From somewhere above the heavenly, fabric-strained globes currently eclipsing my vision, I heard Nina's voice, half-concerned, half-stunned. "Whoa! Marinette?! You okay, girl?"
Marinette.
The name finally pierced the haze of lust-asphyxiation. Marinette Dupain-Cheng. The sweet, klutzy, impossibly kind girl from our class. The one who stammered and turned a shade of pink so bright it could guide ships whenever I so much as glanced her way.
The girl whose magnificent, world-class, fuck-me-now ass was currently serving as my personal, perfect oxygen-deprivation chamber.
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Holy. Fucking. Shit.
I mean, I've seen asses. It comes with the territory of being Adrien-fucking-Agreste, teen model. Airbrushed, Photoshopped, surgically enhanced asses on billboards and runways. But this? This was raw. This was real. This was an unholy masterpiece of firm, plush perfection, strained against dark denim and jiggling ever-so-slightly with her panicked, frozen trembling. An ass worthy of worship. An ass that made my dick THROB in agreement, trapped and pulsing violently beneath the twin mountains of her cheeks.
For a few, stolen, degenerate seconds, all I could do was lie there and bask. My face was buried. My nose was filled with the faint, clean scent of her laundry soap and something uniquely, intoxicatingly her. My world was darkness, heat, and the most incredible pressure I'd ever felt.
The girl in question was so stunned she'd gone completely rigid. She hadn't even moved her face from where it had landed—directly in my goddamn lap, her cheek plastered against the raging tent in my pants. She didn't seem to register it. She was just… frozen. A beautiful, clumsy statue giving me the most accidental, most perfect 69-ever.
My hand, moving on pure, perverse instinct, fumbled my phone from my pocket. The camera shutter clicked, silent and swift.
What?
Can you blame me? I needed a monument. A testament. The Louvre had the Mona Lisa. I would have this. A pristine, high-resolution capture of the denim-clad heaven currently granting my face its purpose.
Eventually, a sputtering gasp from above signaled her reboot. She began to shakily push herself up. I took the opportunity to slide out from under her, my body screaming in protest. A huge, degenerate part of me wanted to hook my hands around those perfect hips and hold her there forever, grind my face into that ass until I passed out from sheer ecstasy.
Still, as divine as it was, survival instinct won. I couldn't let the school's gossip mill have this as fodder.
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"S-s-sorry, A-adrien!"
Her voice was a high-pitched, mortified squeak. It took me a second—brain still drunk on ass—to fully connect the voice to the girl now scrambling to her feet, face so red it practically glowed.
To be honest, I hadn't paid much attention to the quiet, clumsy girl in our class—until that day in the library when she came barreling around a bookshelf like a hurricane in pink sneakers. One spectacular, limb-tangling trip later, she was babbling about pollen allergies while I caught her, my arms full of warm, soft girl, her scent of sugar cookies and ink permanently seared into my senses.
Since then? The universe seemed determined to throw her into my path—sometimes quite literally. At this point, I was starting to think some cosmic force had a filthy, beautiful sense of humour.
No matter how hard I tried to play it cool, Marinette turned into a walking, blushing disaster around me. The stuttering, the tripping, the way her sapphire-blue eyes would go wide and helpless… you'd think I was a fucking ax-murderer instead of just saying "pass the pencil." Part of me felt a twist of guilt, like I'd somehow become the final boss in her personal anxiety simulator.
But here's the fucking thing: beneath all that glorious, flustered chaos was someone… fascinating.
As a model for my father's soul-crushing brand, I'd been draped over and posed with countless "perfect" girls. Yet Marinette stood out like a supernova in a black void. Maybe it was the way her eyes—those stunning, bluebell fucking eyes—ignited with genuine passion when she whispered about fabric textures or seam lines. Maybe it was the way her dark hair, usually in those cute pigtails, always smelled like home—like warm sugar, vanilla, and creativity.
And yes, objectively, clinically speaking, her body was a religious experience. Those curves—the gentle swell of her hips, the perfect handful of her tits, the sinful cut of her waist I could probably span with my hands and still have room to pull her closer—were sculpted by a god with a sense of humour and a filthy mind.
Whoa. DOWN, BOY.
But it wasn't just the physical. There was something else… a spark. A jolt of recognition in the way she moved, a flicker of fierceness beneath the stutter, a familiarity that hit me in the gut like a Cataclysm to the chest. It felt like a melody I'd heard in a dream, a secret whispered just before waking.
And that? That fucking mystery intrigued me, haunted me, turned me on more than any airbrushed supermodel on any magazine cover ever could.
"It's no problem, Marinette," I said with an easy smile. Her face turned scarlet, the blush spreading all the way to her ears as she stammered:
"R-really? Y-you're not mad?" Her bluebell eyes darted everywhere but my face. "B-because if you're—"
The sharp click-click-click of designer heels cut through the hallway chatter like a guillotine. Students froze mid-step as the sound approached—a predator stalking its prey. Before I could react, Marinette was shoved aside with a yelp, and suddenly my face was buried in soft, Chanel-scented cleavage.
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"Adrikins!"
Chloé.
My childhood friend since diapers wrapped herself around me like an overenthusiastic octopus, her considerable assets smothering me in a way that would make most guys jealous. I groaned into her chest, more from exasperation than discomfort.
Chloé Bourgeois—mayor's daughter, self-proclaimed Queen Bee, and my personal human limpet. Her piercing blue eyes, sculpted cheekbones, and signature smirk radiated runway-ready elegance, enhanced by subtle makeup that accentuated her natural beauty. Sun-kissed blonde hair cascaded over one shoulder in a sleek ponytail, framing her oval face with polished perfection.
Her attire today was as fashionable as it was, as it was form-fitting for her with a cropped yellow jacket draped open to reveal toned abs and a snug black-and-white striped top that hugged her self-proclaimed "divine figure" as if it had been painted on. It was hard to ignore how it emphasised her ample cleavage as it was entirely a tease, and yet tasteful as nothing lewd was exposed, only hinted at from how tight it clung to her massive chest. Her lower half was as much a tease as the upper, clad in crisp white pants that seemed almost painted onto her hips and ass. Gold jewellery glinted as she moved, from layered necklaces to a delicate bracelet, completing her luxe aesthetic. Oversized sunglasses perched atop her head like a crown, cementing her aura of unshakable confidence.
"Oh, you poor thing! Are you ok? Did this horrible girl hurt you?" she asked, her voice filled with concern. This was not an uncommon situation for me, as she had been...a lot ever since we were toddlers. High-maintenance didn't even begin to cover it. While I appreciated her loyalty over the past two years, her jealousy made maintaining other friendships complicated.
She cupped my face with her hands and stared deeply into my eyes, her blue eyes searching for any signs of injury before shooting a dirty look at Marinette, who flinched and backed away. "Honestly, Dupain-Cheng, for you to have the nerve to touch my Adrikins! Honestly, how dare you? Don't you have any respect?"
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"Yeah! He's Adrien Agreste, and you're just some random nobody!" That's when I noticed two more figures approaching. Trailing behind Chloé like a shadow was Sabrina Raincomprix—her ever-present, rarely acknowledged sidekick. The short girl adjusted her thick-rimmed glasses with an annoyed huff, her messy orange bob swaying as she hurried to keep pace.
While not the sort of woman to draw people's gazes, she was certainly not unattractive, having a small, petite body with subtle feminine curves. While her small, perky breasts and buttocks might not have been to everyone's tastes, many considered her figure to be appealing in an adorable, girlish sort of way. Her attire was just as modest and pleasant to look upon as the body it adorned, consisting of a white collared shirt, over which she wore a patterned vest with a dark purple, teal, and brown diamond-shaped pattern. She is wearing light teal-coloured shorts that appear to be made of denim.
"Uh... I don't know. It seems like an accident to me." The second newcomer spoke up, though barely, her voice so quiet that I almost missed it. That person was one of the few people who could question Chloe's authority in the school without facing the immediate wrath of the Queen Bee, and that person was none other than her own twin, Zoe.
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Zoé Lee-Bourgeois is Chloé's other half in every sense of the word. The two of them are practically identical in appearance, with the same blonde hair, blue eyes, facial features, and even the same body type, having inherited their mother's voluptuous figure. However, their personalities are complete opposites; Chloé commands attention with brash confidence and cutting remarks, while Zoé is reserved and soft-spoken, preferring to stay in the background and let her sister do the talking.
While not as overtly flamboyant as her twin, Zoé has an understated sense of fashion, usually opting for a cool and trendy aesthetic: today she wore a black leather jacket and a white tank top adorned with a single pink blossom, which, like her sister, hugged her curvy figure and emphasised her large breasts as well as the toned stomach they were partially exposed. She kept her long blonde hair loose and free, letting it cascade over her shoulders in a waterfall of soft curls with streaks of pink and blue dyed in. Her outfit was completed by a pair of skinny yellow sport jeans that hugged her hips, butt, and thighs like a second skin, showcasing the fruits of her daily gym sessions.
"Ugh, Zoé, you're so naive!" Chloé snapped, making her sister physically shrink. The dynamic was painfully familiar: If there's one thing I've learned about the twins' dynamic, it's that, no matter how close they are, Zoe always gives in to Chloé, usually without complaint. The second, Chloé snaps her fingers, Zoé folds. Every. Damn. Time.
"Don't tell me you're actually falling for her little act? She's only pretending to be all innocent and shy. You know what people say: "Still waters run deep." And behind that sweet and innocent facade is a dirty, sex pest who's trying to seduce our Adrikins."
"Hey! Don't talk about her like that!"
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Then, as if things weren't complicated enough, someone else stepped into the fray, her arms folded and a scowl on her face. That's Alya Césaire, Marinette's best friend. Besides the nasty things that Chloé ranted to me about her while drunk, I've barely interacted with her. What I have heard, however, is that she's an aspiring journalist and staunch supporter of Ladybug and my alter-ego.
Also, she's pretty good-looking.
She's not the most beautiful girl in the world, but her caramel skin, hazel eyes behind a pair of glasses and wavy, reddish-brown ombre hair give her a charm that's hard to ignore. Her eyes, a rich amber colour, are sharp and piercing, and her lips are full and pouty. Her body is curvy and toned, with very impressive breasts and a plump rear. She could definitely pass as a model if she wanted.
"She was just running late for class and didn't see him," Alya explained, standing up to Chloé. "And it's not like she planned to fall on him! So stop blowing things out of proportion and leave her alone!"
"Alya..." Marinette mumbled, but her friend ignored her. Meanwhile, Chloé's face twisted into a grimace as she pushed me into Zoé, who caught me with surprising ease as Chloé marched up to Alya, glaring daggers at her.
"What was that, new girl?" Chloe demanded, her eyes blazing with fury. Alya didn't back down, standing her ground and staring back at the blonde with equal intensity. Clearly, she wasn't afraid of Chloé, which surprised me. Most people in Paris were scared shitless of the Bourgeois family, yet Alya didn't flinch or falter under her gaze.
"I said, leave her alone," Alya replied, her tone cool and even. "She's done nothing wrong. So back off."
Clearly, this wasn't going to end well; if I didn't do something soon, these two might start a brawl right here and now.
Seeing no other alternative, I quickly stepped between Chloé and Alya, my hands raised in a disarmingly friendly manner as I tried to defuse the situation.
"ENOUGH!" I shouted, causing all the girls to fall silent and stare at me. "Let's not fight over this, alright? It's not a big deal."
"But Adrikins—"
"No, Chloé." I cut her off before she could continue. "I appreciate you looking out for me, but it was just an accident. No one's at fault here, so why don't we all just move on and go to class, okay?"
Chloé opened her mouth to argue, but stopped herself, taking a deep breath and composing herself. "Ugh, fine. But if she 'accidentally' falls on you again, I'm not being nice about it."
Alya opened her mouth to retort, but I shot her a quick, pleading glance. She rolled her eyes and huffed, relenting. "Yeah, sure. Whatever."
But as the argument died down, a new voice echoed through the hallway, and its owner appeared from around the corner, looking at the scene in front of her.
"Oh? What's going on here?"
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It belonged to one of our teachers, Miss Caline Bustier—or Ms Busty, as some students liked to call her, because she easily had the biggest rack in the school. And that was saying something, considering the absolute units some of the girls in our year were packing. Her tits weren't merely large; they were monumental, straining against the thin, white fabric of her tight blouse with every breath she took. The poor buttons looked one deep breath away from catapulting across the hallway. Her bright red hair was done up in a severe bun, and her blue eyes were kind and welcoming, but I couldn't help but stare at the sheer mass of her chest. Her luscious, pillowy mammaries bounced and jiggled obscenely with each step she took, the sheer weight of them threatening to spill out into the open.
Beneath that, her grey pencil skirt was stretched to its absolute limit over a pair of wide, childbearing hips and a thick, plush, perfectly rounded ass that jiggled with the same hypnotic rhythm as her chest. Her thighs were thick, meaty pillars of soft, squeezable flesh that made my mouth water with the desire to nuzzle my face between them. She was so fucking stacked, I couldn't believe she hadn't already been knocked up by a dozen guys!
"Nothing, Ms Bustier," I said quickly, trying to salvage the situation as I realised I was still staring at her rack. "You're just—uh, looking good today!"
"Thank you, Mr Agreste and well, I hope that all is well," Ms Bustier replied with a warm smile as her massive tits jiggled and bounced with every movement. God, those things were huge! It was like staring at a pair of living, breathing, jiggling pillows.
"Now, please head to your homeroom, students. We don't want to waste any more time, do we?"
A loud groan filled the air as the crowd that had formed to witness the drama dispersed, heading to their respective classes as Ms. Bustier turned and walked toward her room. The view from behind was almost as enticing, if not more so, as her fat, round ass swayed back and forth with every step. The fabric of her pencil skirt was stretched thin, leaving almost nothing to the imagination, and Several students nearly walked into walls, completely mesmerised by the rippling, bouncing flesh.
"My dude, talk about a close one, huh?" Nina remarked, a sly grin on her face. "Nice save, by the way."
"Yeah, thanks," I replied, sighing in relief. "Would have been better if you jumped in and helped, but whatever."
"What, and get involved in that? Chloe barely tolerates my existence, and rather than getting a ring with our Lioness when she's like that." Nina quipped, a playful grin on her face.
"Heard that, Lahiffe." Chloe sneered as she walked past. "Next time you open your mouth, try not to stink up the place."
Nina just shrugged. "You heard her. Later, A.A." Before I could respond, Nina gave me a fist bump and walked away as Chloé immediately wrapped her arm around mine, pulling me into her side with possessive force. Her soft, warm breast pressed against my bicep, the hard peak of her nipple branding my skin through our clothes. I could feel her heart racing, or maybe that was mine.
"Now come on, Adrikins. We don't want to be late."
Before I could object, Zoé did the same on my other side, though much more gently and quietly.
"Indeed. Let's go, Adrien."
'Just like old times,' I thought as I resigned myself to my fate, trying not to pay attention to the girls' large, soft breasts pressing against me. In the end, I decided not to fight it, letting the twins pull me towards Ms. Bustier's room with Sabrina trailing behind us like a duckling as we got jealous side-eyes from every student we passed.
Just like old times, I thought as I resigned myself to my fate, trying not to pay attention to the girls' large, soft breasts pressing against me on both sides, their hips brushing against mine, their intoxicating scents filling my nostrils—Chloé's expensive perfume, Zoé's gentle vanilla. Sabrina trailed behind us like a duckling, and every student we passed stared at me, their faces filled with envy and lust.
'How did I end up like this?'
That was the only thought running through my mind as I sat in class with an aching, hard boner as to my left- Chloe stillhad her arms wrapped around mine.
To my right, Zoé did the same, and the sensation of their ample busts pressing against me was almost maddening.
To the far left of both of them sat both Sabrina and Nina, and the latter had her legs up on her desk, a bored look on her face.
My situation made worse by the fact that the front row was filled with a bunch of girls, who were also glaring at the twins with varying levels of jealousy.
As for the boys....
They were no boys.
You see Collège Françoise Dupont was originally an all-girl for the elite families of France until a couple of years ago when they decided to open the doors to a few select male students.
The problem was its so elite that getting in is hard so girls out numbered men by 3-1.
Why that matter?
Well, I was in one of those real situations where I was the only boy in my class group.
In other words, I was the only guy among a bunch of gorgeous babes.
I mean, don't get me wrong, it's not a bad situation to be in, but being a teenage boy surrounded by hot chicks can be...tempting, to say the least.
'Damn it, not again...' I groaned internally, trying to will away my erection. But the combined sensations of Chloe and Zoé's boobs as Ms Bustier stood in front of the class, and I couldn't help but imagine how amazing it would feel to slide my cock between those heavenly melons.
"Now, class it is time to answer today's history question, please answer to the best of your abilities, and remember, this will go towards your final grade."
-x-X-x-
History was always my weakest subject, so I had more trouble then I thought but was able to answer the question after a few moments of brainstorming, though it wasn't anything impressive.
Anyway, the rest of the day went by without incident. It was a Free period, so everyone was doing their own thing. Some people were talking, others were on their phones, and some were actually studying.
-x-X-x-
Well, I decided to go check up on Marinette since I hadn't had a chance to apologise to her for what happened earlier.
Luckily, it didn't take much effort to find her. Those cute pink pigtails she wore were a dead giveaway, as she was talking to Alya about something or other.
"Hey, Marinette." I greeted her, smiling warmly at her.
"A-A-Adrien!" She exclaimed, jumping a little and turning towards me, her eyes wide with surprise. "W-w-what are you doing here?"
"I just wanted to apologise for earlier." I began rubbing the back of my neck. "I know Chloé can be a little...intense at times, but I'm sorry if she made you feel uncomfortable."
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"I'm—It's okay. You didn't do anything wrong; I should be apologising for falling on you." Shockingly, this was the most I've ever seen her put together and not stuttering like a broken record. "So, um...are we cool?"
"Of course," I said, hoping that would ease her nerves a little bit, noting the textbooks on their desks.
"We-"
"Maria here was helping me study for our next test." Alya interrupted, a smirk on her face. "History isn't my best subject, so I was hoping Mairn could help me with the basics."
"Same, to be honest," I admitted, feeling slightly embarrassed. "I'm not too good with history, either. The dates and the events are just a jumble in my head."
It was then that a smirk appeared on Alya's face as she looked at me and then her friend. "Then why don't you and Maria study together? She's really smart when she's not tripping over her own two feet and has helped me a lot, so maybe she can help you, too."
I could see Marinette's cheeks turn pink at what her friend had said, but she didn't object. "I-I guess I could." She agreed, looking over at me. "But only if you want to."
"Yeah, that'd be great, thanks," I replied, taking a seat right across from Marinette, who blushed, avoiding making eye contact with me as Alya grinned, sitting down right beside her, and I couldn't help but wonder if this was part of some elaborate plan. My suspicions increased as the dark-skinned girl abruptly shot up from her seat, slinging her bag over her shoulder with exaggerated urgency.
"Oh shoot, I totally forgot—I left my history notes in the library!" she announced, already backing away. "You two go ahead and start without me. I'll be back… eventually!"
And just like that, she was gone, leaving Marinette and me alone, and a sense of awkwardness filled the air as neither of us knew what to say.
"So..." I broke the silence. "Where should we start?"
She nodded, taking a deep breath as we started our study session.
-x-X-x-
The next hour was spent discussing historical events, and to my absolute shock—and delight—Marinette was actually a complete genius when it came to this stuff. Like, scary smart. Her little mouth, those plump, cherry-colored lips that I absolutely was not staring at, moved a mile a minute as she breezed through key points I'd been struggling with for weeks. Clearly, I had severely underestimated the pig-tailed baker girl.
"Thanks, Marinette," I said as we wrapped up, closing the textbook and stretching my arms above my head, a relieved sigh escaping me. "I think I've got the hang of it now."
"Oh, it was no big deal," Marinette replied, waving her hand dismissively. "You're a pretty good student, so teaching you wasn't that hard- you even helped me out a bit."
"You were the one who was helping me, though," I chuckled, rubbing the back of my neck nervously. "I was just following along."
A nervous giggle escaped her, and I felt something inside me stir as her cheeks turned a rosy shade of pink.
"By the way, do you have some notes or something?" I asked, nodding toward the worn notebook clutched in her hands. "I've been meaning to get one for a while, but I've just been so busy with… everything. Never got around to it."
"Oh! I—have in my bag—let me just get it."
Marinette stammered, her words tripping over themselves as she twisted in her seat and reached across the table for her bag. She leaned forward, digging through it with frantic, nimble fingers.
And that's when my brain short-circuited.
Her backside was presented to me in full, glorious, high-definition view. Her jeans—a pair of soft, well-worn denim that looked like they'd been painted onto her body—stretched taut across the most breathtaking, mouth-watering, absolutely devastating set of curves I had ever witnessed in my entire life. I knew it wasn't polite to stare. I knew I should look away. I knew my mother raised me better than this.
But, uh… damn.
Her ass was a masterpiece. Two perfect, plush, globe-shaped mounds of pure, sinful flesh that strained against the denim prison barely containing them. The fabric hugged every contour, every dip and swell, with an intimacy that bordered on obscene. A faint, teasing line of her ass crack was visible, peeking out just enough to send my imagination into a tailspin. The material was so thin, so stretched to its absolute limit, that I could practically see the soft, creamy skin beneath.
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They jiggled ever so slightly with every frantic movement she made, wobbling like two scoops of perfect, gelatinous heaven. Her thighs, thick and thunderous, pressing together with a softness that could probably crush a man's head—and I was volunteering.
My cock, the traitorous bastard, responded instantly.
It hardened against my thigh, swelling and throbbing with a desperate, aching need that made my pants feel two sizes too small. I could feel the pulse of blood rushing to my groin, my length twitching as it fought against the confines of my zipper. A bead of pre-cum, hot and sticky, soaked into the fabric of my boxers as I watched her plush, wobbling backside continue its hypnotic search.
She had no idea that her perfect, world-class, fuck-me-now dump truck was currently on full display. No idea that her jeans, poor, valiant soldiers that they were, were losing a war against the sheer, obscene magnitude of her posterior. No idea that I was sitting here, mouth dry, dick rock-hard, completely and utterly undone by the sight of her.
Her cheeks rippled slightly as she shifted her weight, and I swore I heard a faint, lewd plap echo in the quiet library.
I couldn't tear my eyes away. I didn't want to.
I felt my cock harden as she continued searching through her bag, unaware of her exposed state. I couldn't tear my eyes away from the delicious sight in front of me, and the way her jeans hugged her curves was driving me wild.
'God, how is she so oblivious?' I wondered, struggling to keep my growing erection hidden as the ravenette continued to dig through her bag, unaware of the show she was giving me as her hips swayed back and forth, her plump ass bouncing with each movement.
It was then that a terrible, wonderful idea came to me, one so daring and risky that it was almost laughable. Yet, at the same time, it was also very tempting, and I couldn't resist as I slowly and quietly stood up, my body moving on its own.
"Almost got it, just got Eeeep! Ah!"
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A surprised squeal escaped her as she felt myself pressing my body up against hers, my chest against her back and my hard, clothed cock between her jean-clad ass cheeks. Fuck! She was so soft, even through the layers of fabric, and I could feel my member twitching as it throbbed in her ass.
"A-Adrien!?" Marinette exclaimed, her face a deep shade of red. "W-what are you-!?"
"You seemed to be having a little trouble finding your notebook, so I decided to lend a hand," I replied casually in her ear, leaning in a little closer and grinding my dick against her supple rear. "I hope you don't mind. After all, friends help each other out, don't they?"
"Y-yeah..." she replied, her voice strained. "F-friends..."
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"Good," I murmured, resting my chin on her shoulder, as our hands dug into her bag, searching for the notebook. As we searched, I continued to rub my dick against her ass, causing her to shudder and gasp as she struggled to maintain her composure as the minutes passed by.
Damn, her butt felt amazing as the soft globes rubbed against my aching cock, and I couldn't resist the urge to thrust my hips against her plush backside as our hands continued to dig through her bag.
Such a lewd scene that, if anyone were to walk in on us, it would be very difficult to explain what we were doing, though a part of me didn't care if someone saw as the thrill of being caught made my heart race, and the thought of someone watching me grinding against her juicy ass was strangely exciting.
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Uh? Is she getting wet from this?
As I continued to grind against her, a sudden realisation came to me as something warm and damp began seeping through her jeans and onto my cock, and I realised that the source was none other than the spot between her legs as her arousal seeped through her panties and jeans.
'Holy shit, is she turned on right now?' I wondered, I couldn't believe how wet she was, and the sensation was unlike anything I'd ever felt before. It was like silk on my cock, and the warmth radiating from her core was incredible.
Knowing how wet she was made me want to just cum and blow my load all over the big fat ass of her's before fucking her senseless right here and now.
No..That would be too much, too fast, and I doubt she would consent to such an act, no matter how into this she seemed.
"Ah, I found it!"
Suddenly, Marinette pulled out a blue notebook with a black polka dot pattern from her bag, holding it in her hands as we pulled away from each other, and my cock throbbed angrily at the loss of contact.
"Here, take it." She practically shoved the notebook into my hands, her eyes not meeting mine. She was so hot in the face, and her breathing was a little heavy, as I could tell her heart was racing, and it was hard to miss the wet spot in her jeans. "You can have it. I-I have a spare."
"Thanks," I said, grinning. "This will really help me out."
"Yeah, no problem," she replied, trying her best not to sound flustered as she gathered her things. "I' better go—uh- catch up with Alya. See ya!"
Before I could say anything, she hurried off like a rocket, rushing out the door with her bag in hand and a look that was both embarrassed and excited, and it wasn't long before the bell rang, signalling the start of the next class.
"Well, that was unexpected," Plagg commented, poking his head out of my bag. "Looks like someone has a naughty side."
"Maybe a little more than I expected," I admitted, a hint of pride in my voice as we started heading to our next class. "But I'm not complaining. Now, let's get to class. We can't be late again."
-x-X-x-
I slung my bag over my shoulder and made my way to the Fencing Club, the last obligation of an already exhausting day. Fencing had been my constant for years—the one place where my father's expectations couldn't reach me, where I wasn't Adrien Agreste, the model, the son, the perfect doll. Here, I was just a fencer.
The best fencer.
Well, second best.
As I pushed through the locker room door, there she was. Kagami Tsurugi. Club captain. Heiress to the Tsurugi Group. And the only person who'd ever made me work for every single point.
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We'd been rivals since childhood, back when our mothers first threw us together in training halls, two prodigies meant to sharpen each other. She'd transferred from Japan to Collège Françoise Dupont and immediately claimed her throne. No one questioned it. No one could touch her.
Except me.
When I first met Kagami, I'd honestly thought she was a boy. The androgynous cut of her black hair, the lean, wiry build, the complete absence of any curve that might betray femininity. Her tomboyish demeanor sealed it. But time had a way of reshaping things. She was unmistakably, breathtakingly a woman now.
"I see you still remember you're part of this club, Agreste."
Her voice cut through the locker room like her rapier—clean, precise, without wasted motion. Those vermilion eyes fixed on me, unreadable as always.
"By like thirty seconds," I shot back, smirking as I moved past her. The other members practically melted away from our vicinity. Smart of them.
"Tardiness is still tardiness. No matter how brief." Her gaze sharpened almost imperceptibly. "I expect punctuality, Adrien. As captain, I hold everyone to standards—including myself. I expect no less from you."
"Won't make a habit of it." I shrugged, already reaching for my gear. "Thirty seconds isn't exactly a crisis. No one else was even here."
"You can make it up by being my sparring partner." No hesitation. No question. "We haven't had a proper match in weeks."
"Sure thing."
We changed in practised silence, the rhythm familiar from hundreds of sessions. But when I glanced over—just once—I caught her in profile, pulling her jacket into place, and my brain promptly short-circuited.
Holy shit.
That fencing suit. That skintight, second-skin, unforgiving fencing suit. When had Kagami's body become a religious experience? Her frame was still lean—she'd never have the pillow-thick curves of a Marinette or the heavy, swinging generosity of a Ladybug—but lean didn't mean lacking. Her waist cinched so sharply it looked sculpted. Her hips flared just enough to catch the light. And her ass—
Her ass was a masterpiece of compact, dense, muscle-deep perfection. Every lunge made those twin globes clench and release, round and tight and so fucking firm they looked carved from marble wrapped in silk. The fabric stretched over each cheek like it was barely containing a force of nature. When she pivoted, they shifted—not a sloppy jiggle, but a controlled, powerful ripple that made my mouth go dry.
Her chest was modest, yes. Small breasts, perky and high, barely filling her palm. But they bounced with each precise step, tight little handfuls that would fit perfectly in—
Nope. Not going there. Focus. Sword. Fight.
We faced off in the gym, rapiers raised, the club gathered in a reverent semicircle. Wind whispered through the open windows. The metallic ring of our first clash shattered the silence.
-x-X-x-
She came at me like a storm. Precise. Brutal. Beautiful. Our blades sang, crossed, scraped—steel screaming against steel as we parried and thrust and countered in a blur of white uniforms and flashing metal. I was rusty; she was relentless. But I was also the only one who'd ever matched her, and that hadn't changed.
The fight stretched. Neither of us yielded. And through it all, I couldn't stop watching her.
The way her thighs flexed with every explosive advance—not thick like tree trunks like some women I knew, but corded with lean, powerful muscle, dense and defined. Sweat traced paths down her toned calves. Her ass bounced with each retreat, tight cheeks clapping softly behind the strained fabric, jiggling with contained violence. Her small breasts rose and fell with her breathing, perky tips pressing against the suit.
She moved like water. Like a blade. Like every motion was part of some larger, lethal choreography.
"Ah!"
However, I suddenly found myself on the receiving end of her attack as her sword came down upon me, ready to deal the final blow.
Acting on instinct, I quickly parried the blow, deflecting her strike and throwing her off balance, and in that instant, I seized the opening and delivered a quick and decisive blow, my sword striking her in the chest, ending the match.
"Point, Agreste!" The referee called out. "Match!"
The other club members applauded, and Kagami nodded, looking somewhat impressed.
"I see you've been practising, Agreste," She remarked, her expression remaining neutral. "Your skill has improved since our last match. Well done."
"Guess, I got a lot of motivation lately." I grinned, wiping the sweat from my brow. "But I gotta admit, it's not easy being the club's top swordsman. You guys make it look so easy."
"It's not easy, but you get used to it," Kagami replied, her expression softening slightly. "You should join us more often, Agreste. It's always good to have someone challenge me."
"Don't worry, I will." I chuckled, rubbing the back of my neck as the smallest hint at a smile appeared on her face as she walked over and extended her hand, helping me up. "Then I expect a rematch soon."
"Anytime, Captain."
-x-X-x-
After our match, I hit the showers with the rest of the club, the drumming of water against tile filling the steam-thick air. I'd lucked into a private stall—thank whatever gods existed for small mercies—and the hot spray was fucking divine, sluicing over my shoulders, tracing rivers down my chest, washing away the day's accumulated sweat and tension.
But tension of one kind just bled into another.
My body was still humming from the match. Adrenaline. Endorphins. And beneath it all, that familiar, insistent heat that had been coiling tighter all day—Nathalie's shocked flush in the bathroom mirror, Nina's warm weight pressed against my arm, Marinette's perfect ass smothering my face in front of the entire school. My cock, already half-hard and aching against my thigh, throbbed with each pulse of the shower spray.
Taking my aching and erect member in hand, I began to stroke myself, groaning softly as the familiar pleasure coursed through my body. It didn't take long before my thoughts drifted to the events of the day and the beautiful women that surrounded me.
But two were especially prominent.
My first thought was Marinette.
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Those pullable pigtails! That nice firm butt! Fuck, she was so adorable, and just thinking about her made my dick twitch, the way she was so shy and nervous around me. But it was her ass that I couldn't get out of my head, that plump, juicy booty, and the way she'd moaned and whimpered as I grinded against her, and her sweet scent wafting in the air was still fresh in my mind.
What would she sound like, I wondered, if I had her beneath me? If I spread those perfect cheeks apart and buried myself inside that tight, untouched pussy? Would she gasp? Cry out? Would those sapphire eyes roll back as I stretched her open, filling her inch by inch until she couldn't remember her own name?
But the next person to pop into my head was Kagami.
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That girl was something else. Her agile figure, her perky athletic ass and flat tits worked perfectly on her petite frame, her stoic demeanour, her fiery and competitive nature, and those eyes, they burned into me, challenging and unyielding as I imagined her bending over for me, her cute ass up in the air, just begging to be spanked.
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Fuck, the image of both Marinette and Kagami, naked and willing as her pressed their bodies against each other and made out while grinding their pussies against each other was all too real, and I could feel myself getting close as my cock throbbed and pulsed in my hand.
'Huh, I wonder if I have a specific type.' I mused, stroking faster and harder, my breathing becoming heavier. 'Ladybug, Marinette and Kagami...I might have a thing for Asian women.'
As I continued to stroke myself, the mental images and fantasies became more and more lewd as I envisioned Marinette and Kagami, sharing my cock with each other, their tongues wrapped around my length, and the feeling of their warm, wet mouths was incredible.
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Or maybe they'd have a little fun with each other, eating each other's pussies and asses as they fingered and licked each other, their soft moans echoing throughout the room.
Or perhaps it'd be all three of us, with the two girls pleasuring and worshipping my body as they took turns sucking and riding my cock, their faces twisted with pleasure as they begged me to cum, the mental image bringing me to the edge as the pressure continued to build.
"Oh fuck!"
A loud, guttural moan escaped me as my climax arrived, my entire body tensing up as thick spurts of white, creamy cum erupted from the tip of my cock, painting the wall of the shower stall white.
As the waves of pleasure washed over me, I let out a sigh, leaning against the wall as I slowly regained my bearings, the warm water cascading down my body. It was so strong. The load was thick and creamy, practically clogging the drain with its sheer density and volume.
Damn, must have been more backed up than I thought.
"Fuck, that was good." I sighed, wiping the sweat from my brow as the pressure in my balls was released. "But I gotta admit, that was a pretty strong one."
-x-X-x-
Uh? Could have sworn I heard somebody else in here.
Must have been hearing things.
After I finished my shower and got dressed, I said goodbye to Kagami and the other club members before heading home. Fortunately, my schedule is clear for the rest of the day, which means I have the next few hours to do whatever I want.
With my schedule wide open and the city bathed in the glow of streetlights, I felt the familiar itch for action. Patrolling it is.
I ducked into a secluded alley, making sure no one was watching before whispering, "Plagg, claws out!" In a flash of green light, I transformed, the leather suit moulding to my body, my senses sharpening as a surge of adrenaline coursed through me, and I quickly leapt from the ground, climbing up the building before launching myself into the air.
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I could never get tired of this, the freedom, the exhilaration, and the adrenaline pumping through my veins.
The night sky was dark and cloudy, but the lights from the city illuminated the night, a sea of shimmering stars below me as I bounded from rooftop to rooftop, the crisp night air rushing through my hair.
It's times like these that I could really unwind, and the rush of adrenaline was like a drug, and there's nothing quite like the thrill of flying through the air and swinging from rooftop to rooftop
I'm crouched on a rooftop near the Seine, the chill evening air biting at my exposed skin. Below me, the usual nighttime circus unfolds – drunk tourists laughing too loud, a couple arguing near a café, some sketchy-looking guys loitering near an alley. Nothing worth my time yet.
Then I hear it – a sharp gasp, the sound of shoes scraping against pavement in panic.
There.
A woman in a business suit is backing away from some greasy-looking guy with a knife. Classic mugging. Amateur hour.
I drop down silently behind knife-guy, my shadow stretching long in the dim streetlight as the woman's eyes widen, and she stumbles away, clutching her purse.
"Hello there," I purr, tapping knife-guy on the shoulder.
My man had only just begun to turn around when his fist collided with my stomach, and he was sent flying across the sidewalk, landing face-first into a dumpster with a satisfying metallic clang.
Ooof, might have cracked a rib. Or two.
Forgot, I'm twice as strong now.
Anyway, knife-guy groans and collapses, the knife clattering from his hand. The woman, still wide-eyed, scoops up her purse and runs away.
"Thanks!"
"Get somewhere safe!" I waved her off with a cheeky wink as I was already turning away, heading toward the rooftops-
That laugh. That infuriating, melodic laugh I'd know anywhere as it echoed throughout the night. I turn back and see Ladybug, perched on the fire escape above me like a bird of prey, her bright blue eyes gleaming.
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"Wow. You really do just lurk in dark alleys waiting to play hero, huh?" She rather gracefully leaps down, her feet hardly making a sound as she lands. She's a foot shorter than me, her head tilting up to meet my eyes, and her hands settle on her hips- those glorious, perfect hips- as she studies me. She was just as beautiful as the day we first met. Her long, dark hair is pulled into her signature pigtails, her sapphire eyes staring at me with an intense fire. Her costume hugs her body perfectly, showing off her lithe figure, her full breasts, her shapely hips, and her long, slender legs, and the way her costume left little to the imagination was almost sinful.
"Takes one to know one, Watermelon," I retort, a smirk on my face. "You just can't seem to get enough of me, huh? I mean, the first time you didn't show up, and the second time, you're following me like a lost puppy. Should I be flattered?"
"As if, Fleabag", Ladybug snorts as her eyes narrowed a bit, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "I'm just passing by and happen to come across you doing your thing, and I couldn't resist coming down to say hello...and also you have no idea what you're doing, do you? You're supposed to tie up the bad guy, not leave them sprawled in a dumpster."
"Oh, and I suppose you can do better, huh?"
"Actually, I can."
"Well, then show me, LB."
And so, she does. Ladybug strides over to the unconscious thug, pulling out a set of zip ties from her yo-yo. We then dragged him to the nearby lamppost, zip-tied him, and left him for the police.
"So, care to join me for patrol?" I asked, grinning as we stood on the rooftop, overlooking the city. "I don't bite."
"Maybe, maybe not," Ladybug replied, giving me a sidelong glance as she walked along the ledge, her arms outstretched for balance. "Be sure to keep up, though. Wouldn't want you to get left behind."
"Trust me, Watermelon. I'm a fast runner."
And so, we begin our patrol.
Rooftop to rooftop, we leap across the city, the cold air whipping past us as she uses her yo-yo to swing and propel herself forward, as I use my staff to vault myself from building to building.
I have to admit, her agility and flexibility were amazing, her movements precise and fluid as she navigated the cityscape, and her acrobatic skills were on full display. From every step to every leap and bound, it was like she was dancing, her body flowing in the wind, her hair flowing behind her like a crimson wave, and the way her chest bounced slightly with every movement was intoxicating.
Fuck, I can't stop staring at her ass.
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Her round, shapely ass bouncing and jiggling with every movement, made even more prominent due to her skintight suit as it hugged her body perfectly. It was truly a sight to behold with its perfect shape and size, and I couldn't help but imagine those cheeks wrapped around my cock.
The thought alone was enough to make my cock throb, and I had to stop myself from grabbing her and having my way with her right then and there, the two of us hidden away on a secluded rooftop.
-x-X-x-
The thought won't leave my head as I followed her, the two of us racing across the rooftops until we came to a stop at a nearby rooftop, the two of us taking a breather as we stood in silence, gazing over the city.
"What, kitty? Can't keep up?" Ladybug teased, looking over her shoulder at me, and I could tell by her tone that she was trying to bait me. "Didn't think I was such a fast runner, huh?"
"Oh, I can keep up just fine," I purr, twirling my staff before planting it firmly between us. "But I was thinking... we could train together."
Her eyebrow arches. "Train?"
"You know. Sparring. Hand-to-hand. See what the other one's got."
"Ah. Like a friendly competition?"
"Exactly."My gaze drags down her body, slow, deliberate. "Unless you're scared, I'll have you begging underneath me."
Her expression is thoughtful, her sapphire gaze studying me as she mulls it over, and her lips twist into a grin, a look of challenge burning in her eyes.
"Fine, then. You're on, kitty. But don't expect me to go easy on you." She replied, and her expression softened slightly, and a playful smile crossed her lips.
"Trust me, Watermelon. I wouldn't have it any other way."
We moved to the centre of the roof, where we were given ample space for the sparring match, the two of us standing opposite each other, ready for combat.
Ladybug launched herself at me, her body becoming a blur as she delivered a flurry of blows. It was clear she had never engaged in any sort of martial arts or physical training before; her punches and kicks were wild and sloppy, letting her enhanced speed and strength do most of the work.
But there was no denying that she was incredibly quick, her attacks swift and unpredictable as she attempted to overwhelm me with a barrage of strikes. However, despite her speed, I managed to avoid her attacks and tried to counter her strikes, which was a lot easier said than done as she moved with such incredible speed and grace.
It would have been a lot easier if I hadn't been getting hard.....
I can't deny it, watching her fight, seeing her body move, her expression full of concentration, the way she would bite her lip whenever she missed a strike or a parry, the way her breasts jiggled as she jumped, her ass bouncing with each movement as her suit hugged her curves so perfectly, all of it was making me extremely horny, and I couldn't help but think about her.
It was distracting, to say the least.
"Take this!" She suddenly cried out, her foot flying towards my face, and I had to react fast.
I moved out of the way, narrowly avoiding her kick. Her leg passed right by my face, her thigh mere centimetres from my face. I could smell the subtle scent of her perfume mixed with her natural musk. The scent was intoxicating, and it took all of my willpower to resist the urge to bury my face in her crotch and inhale deeply.
She spun around and went for another kick, her leg slicing through the air like a whip, but my arm shot out, deflecting her attack and sending her foot flying off to the side. She tried to regain her balance, but her momentum carried her forward, and I took advantage of the opening and tackled her, slamming her down onto the rooftop. She yelped in surprise as I pinned her to the ground, holding her arms above her head, her face inches from mine. Our bodies pressed together, and I could feel her chest heaving, her breasts brushing against my chest, and her legs tangled with mine.
The scent of her filled my nose, and my heart raced, my blood pumping, the heat and excitement rising within me. She was breathing heavily, her sapphire eyes meeting mine, her expression a mix of confusion and frustration, and a hint of something else.
"I win," I whispered, leaning down, my breath ghosting over her skin. "But you're not half bad, Watermelon."
"Y-you caught me off guard." Ladybug's face was flushed as she looked away, biting her lip, a look of embarrassment on her face. We remained like that for a moment, and the silence between us grew, the tension thickening as we stared at each other.
Then she suddenly broke free, shoving me off and rolling to the side, springing to her feet.
"You won't catch me off guard again," She declared, her hands moving to her hips, her expression determined. "But next time, you'll be the one underneath me, Chat Noir."
"My, my, I like a girl who can take charge," I said, smirking. "I'll hold you to it, Watermelon."
As she walked away, the mental images flooded my mind, and the blood rushed south, my cock hardening as I thought about Ladybug and her tight, curvy body beneath me, her face twisted in pleasure, her voice begging for more, her hands clawing at my back, and the way she would moan my name...
'Til next time, Ladybug.'
-x-X-x-
The adrenaline from the patrol still buzzes under my skin as I slip back into my room without anyone noticing. Just in time, too, as there was a soft knock on my door as a familiar voice called out, "Adrien? Can I come in?"
"Sure, Nathalie," I replied as the door opened, and the older woman stepped into the room.
"Your father asked me to provide a progress report on your academic achievements, and I wanted to see how you were doing." She explained, her expression neutral as she approached me with a stack of papers. "You've been struggling these past few weeks and have fallen behind on several subjects. I hope you're not distracted or slacking off, Adrien."
"No, Nathalie, of course not," I replied, quickly taking the offered stack of papers, not wanting to arouse any suspicion. "I've just been a bit tired lately. With the new school and the fencing club, it's a lot of work, and I've been a bit busy lately."
"I see," Nathalie said, her expression remaining neutral as she then sat down next to me, making me shift uncomfortably as I could feel the heat of her body, and the subtle scent of her perfume filled the air. "Shall we have a look, then?"
"Sure," I replied, my heartbeat increasing, my face flushed.
-x-X-x-
For the next hour, Nathalie helped me review my homework, the older woman sitting close to me, her body pressed up against mine, and the feeling of her was intoxicating, and as she reviewed the homework and the work I was doing, my eyes were drawn to her body, the way her suit clung to her slender figure, her breasts and her hips and her long, slender legs, and I had to fight the urge to reach out and touch her.
But fuck, the urge was strong.
So fucking strong.
As she went through the stack of papers, her breast was pressed against my shoulder as the older woman leaned over to review the work, causing my cock stir as the blood began to rush south, the fabric of my pants straining as it became painfully hard.
"Adrien? Is everything okay?" Nathalie suddenly spoke up, causing me to jump as I realised I had been staring at her, her eyes meeting mine, a look of concern on her face. "You seem a bit distract-" Her words were cut off as her eyes drifted downward, her expression changing from one of concern to one of shock, her eyes widening as her gaze settled on my crotch, her gaze resting on the tent in my pants.
Fuck!
It couldn't be any more obvious! I was pitching a whole tent in my pants, and there was no hiding it.
Nathalie's expression changed, a look of surprise and arousal on her face as she stared at the bulge in my pants, her cheeks flushed. She then looked up, her gaze meeting mine, a mixture of emotions flashing in her eyes.
Shit what do I do?
There was a brief pause as the older woman mulled over my words, her gaze flicking from the bulge in my pants, the obvious arousal written all over her face, and the slight tremble of her hands, the flush spreading across her cheeks.
"I see," Nathalie finally replied, her voice soft. "And have you tried... relieve those urges?"
"Well, yeah, I've, uh, tried to, but it's not enough," I replied, rubbing the back of my neck awkwardly. "Most days, I jerk off every few hours, but no matter how many times I cum, the urge never goes away. It's like there's this...fire burning inside of me and I don't know what to do. Please, you gotta help me!"
"M-me?" Nathalie stammered as her eyes went wide.
"Please, you're the only person I can turn to, Nathalie! I...I trust you. Ever since I was a kid, you've always taken such good care of me and helped me out whenever I needed it, no matter how stupid the problem was."
"But that is highly unprofessional—"
"I'm not asking for much," I pleaded, "I just need you to help me with this. If you do this for me, then I'll promise I'll never ask for anything ever again."
This was the first time I'd ever seen Nathalie blush as the older woman shifted uncomfortably, her eyes darting down to the bulge in my pants before returning to meet mine, before she suddenly cleared her throat, breaking the silence. I was worried that I might have overstepped, and was about to tell her to forget the whole thing when Nathalie finally spoke up.
"Fine, "
"Really? You'll...help me?" I asked, unable to believe what I was hearing, the throbbing in my pants intensifying. Nathalie, the no-nonsense, straight-laced, emotionless ice queen, was actually going to—
"Yes, but on one condition," the older woman replied. "You will tell no one of this, understood? As far as anyone is concerned, you did nothing more than discuss school with me. Is that clear?"
"Same here, last thing I want is my…. probably kill both of us, heh. But yes, I promise. Not a word."So...what do you want to, uh, do?"
My whole body was burning up, my heart racing, my blood pumping, the throbbing in my pants growing as I felt my cock straining against my pants, threatening to rip a hole through the fabric. This was a once in a life time opportunity, and I couldn't waste it.
"Well...You don't mind if I were to...feel you up a bit, do you?" I shifted uncomfortably as the words left my lips, a slight tremor in my voice. "You've got such a nice body, and I would like to...touch you a bit. If that's okay with you."
Nathalie, for her part, seemed taken aback by the request. I was ready to backtrack—too forward?—when she slowly made her way over to the bed, her voice barely above a whisper.
"If... that's what you want."
Holy shit. Did that actually work? I mean, I knew I was irresistible, but seriously?
"Please, take your time." She added, sitting down on the edge of the bed, legs spread apart, revealing a teasing glimpse of her inner thighs as well as the outline of her panties. "Just...try not to get too carried away, okay?"
I couldn't believe this was happening, and, for a moment, I almost felt guilty, as Nathalie was like a second mother to me, taking care of me when my folks couldn't be bothered, always there for me, making sure that everything was running smoothly and even offering herself up to me, despite knowing the possible consequences.
But it was that very reason that made her so damn attractive, the fact that she was risking so much just to make me feel good, and it was that sense of danger and taboo that made the experience all the more thrilling.
I felt my cock pulsate and throb in my pants as I approached her, taking a seat beside her, our bodies mere inches apart. My heart was pounding, and my hands were shaking as I reached out, my fingertips grazing the soft fabric of her pencil skirt as I gently traced the outline of her leg, from the smooth, milky flesh of her thighs down to her knee, and back up again.
Nathalie didn't make a sound. Her face remained unreadable, her eyes locked onto mine as my touch wandered higher, slow, deliberate. My fingers traced the curve of her legs, the dip of her waist, the smooth plane of her stomach, each movement measured, testing.
And then I was there, just centimetres away from her breasts, the shapely mounds barely concealed beneath the stiff fabric of her blouse as they rose and fell with each breath.
I hesitated, my eyes meeting hers, silently asking for permission. She gave the smallest of nods, her gaze never leaving mine, and I felt myself stiffen even more as my fingertips brushed against the underside of her breasts before cupping them, a slight gasp escaping her as I gently squeezed the soft flesh.
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